


It's About Power

by Anorlost



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, bad ideas about sex, frenemies with benefits?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9051196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorlost/pseuds/Anorlost
Summary: Because everything is about sex, except for sex.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at hard Kylux. Merry Christmas?

It begins with a bed.Usually a bed.Any flat surface is sufficient, but both of them want what this is about to be explicitly clear.This was going to end with one of their faces in the mattress.One of them was going to moan for the other like a whore upon their defeat.A closet, an empty office, a sparring ring could have all worked, but the symbolism was lost.A bedroom was personal, intimate, within a room where guards ought to be lowered.One of them would be owned within this room, a place where they ought to have a feeling of safety and security, there was the potential to have all of it snatched away.

Ren takes the initiative.The General’s skill lies in the analytical, so he observes.Ren is harsh, unyielding, going straight for weak points.Hair, on the top of the head for control and pain, the throat, for a mockery of intimacy, ivory teeth meeting ivory skin and becoming one in a burst of red.There’s a hiss, there’s nails, but Ren holds on like an animal with its hand caught in a trap.An animal that could have freedom if it would realize that it could let go of the bait and flee with its life if only it could ever stop being greedy.

The General finishes his analysis.He has all the data he needs.There’s no reciprocation in the faux intimacy Ren instigated.The General is just as brutal as Ren, but more efficient.He needs to be.His body is more fragile.He has no power fueled by invisible Forces or passed down through his blood.He does have training though, and a chip on his shoulder, the size of which could rival his beloved ship.

A kick to the inner heel.A hand in black hair pressing Ren closer, muffling him against dark fabric and red stained skin.Ren’s air supply is cut off.He’s forced to release his bite if he wants to breathe.A punch to the face when Ren pulls back and the red within them both is exposed and mingling between them.The General doesn’t waste time.His strikes have to be as perfect and precise as he himself pretends to be.Throat, gut, groin.The General takes particular satisfaction in the groin.

Then he’s caught, stopped.His limbs won’t move.Ren stretches out a hand and the General is on his back, pinned under invisible weight.He struggles against it.He’s always struggled against it.Blood, fate, physiognomy, and now the Force of the universe itself.Never good enough.Perfection within his grasp, if not for some unfair, blindsiding privilege that was handed to another while he struggled to achieve.Achieve rank.Achieve respect.Achieve what others were handed at birth.

Ren is furious, but he takes his time.He wants the General to feel the futility of the struggle Ren can sense inside him.He doesn’t punch.It would be satisfying, but it would not be so satisfying as a slap.A slap was personal, insulting and degrading.The pain was minimal, but the symbolic nature of it, the intent behind the gesture was more powerful than a fist.A fist was hate.A fist was a desire for pain.A slap was for correction.For degradation.The General could stand hate.But insults were harder for his mind, and the mind was what Ren wanted more than the body.Anyone could have the body, but the mind was a place that only Ren could enter.Tonight he aimed to claim it.

The General feels it.He can interpret the signs Ren gives him.He snarls.His teeth snap.He’s vicious now, but still so helpless.Ren likes him best like this.When the match has been decided but he still thinks he might win if only, if only, if only…

Ren loves it.He loves the slow transformation.He loves to rip away the mask of perfection and leave the animal, growling, bleeding, thrashing between his thighs.The General is an animal, as much as he likes to pretend otherwise.Ren smiles down at him.He holds the General’s face so he can look more closely, reclaiming traces of the intimacy and closeness they had both abandoned for loftier goals.The General’s lips are stained with red.Ren thinks he would like to smear it.Rouge those pink lips to show the General how helpless he truly is.

There are more ways of showing helplessness though.Ren takes his time.He savors, he plays, he forces the General to react.He’s going to turn the General into a creature to be mounted and used, and he would make the General enjoy it.Ren strokes his hair, takes his time to remove clothing.He belittles, humiliates, ‘Daddy raised a good little whore.’‘This is what you were made for.’‘You’re nothing.’‘From one bastard to another.’

The General fights it.He fights the truth.He fights for the truth, he thinks.For the idea that someone small, thin as paper and just as useless, can have a place among the stars that he’s watched from the gutters for so long.Someone who hadn’t lived through the gutters didn’t deserve those stars.The General glares.He can only glare.Ren won’t come near his mouth or hands.Knows he’ll bite.Knows he’ll scratch.They’re both exposed to each other now.

“Pretty…” Ren says.A pale hand runs down a pale chest.Not strong.Not scary.Not commanding.Pretty.Like a wispy flower or bird in a cage.  No value outside of his looks.

The General spits.The General glares.His analysis runs through his mind.Ren wants intimacy.Ren wants depth of feeling.Ren will get neither.Ren will not win.The General stays silent.

“Whore.”

Silence.

“Bastard.”

Silence.

“Look at me when I talk to you!”

Despite his mask, Ren was always transparent.

“Then scream,” Ren commands.

Something presses in and The General barely stifles himself.It’s too much.It’s too fast.He can feel himself tearing and bleeding.There’s nothing to make it easy.It’s not supposed to be easy.It’s a fight.It’s mutual hatred.It’s supposed to hurt.That’s what the General had always been told.It’s supposed to hurt.It’s a tool to gain power over the weak.And Ren is so hopelessly weak in Hux’s mind.

“Scream!” Ren repeats.

The General moans.Or at least he tries.

He doesn’t enjoy it.It’s not meant to be enjoyed.It’s supposed to hurt.But the General pretends it doesn’t.He pretends he loves it.He forces himself to smile wickedly through all the red.He pretends this fulfills him, that Ren has given him something he craved.He doesn’t crave it.Who in their right mind craves the feeling of pain?The General does it because Ren doesn’t want him to feel that way.He disobeys like the unwanted child he had always been.Ren wanted pain?He would get pleasure.Ren wanted fear and humiliation?He would get joy and revelry.

Ren doesn’t understand it.He always understands after, but in the moment he can never comprehend it.He doesn’t know why it shocks him to the core to hear the moans.He wants a scream.He demanded a scream.Why is he always defied?Why will none of them scream for him?Even about to be executed the enemies, the opponents greet him evenly, sometimes with humour as he prepares to end them.And now, poised to take the image the General holds so dear, he laughs, he moans, he won’t scream.Ren deserves to feel someone screaming at him.To call him the monster he strives to be.Not the misguided youth who stumbled, who could still be saved.Ren doesn’t want salvation.He wants fear.

And the General won’t give that to him.

“Whore!” Ren accuses.He strikes across the face.

“Harder!” the supposed victim challenges.Red stains ivory teeth to match his hair.

Ren doesn’t understand why the man beneath him, around him, just won’t break.If he cried, shed a single tear, it would be enough.If he asked for a little gentleness it would be enough.If he gave a sign that Ren was causing him pain, the frustration would lift itself.Ren would be satisfied.But the General won’t cry for him.He won’t scream.He lies there and moans, as if Ren was doing him some sort of a favor.Perhaps he was.

The General feels the monotony of it.In and out.In and out.Horrible.Repetitive.It seems like it will never end.But it’s supposed to hurt.He’s not supposed to enjoy it.He enjoys something else though.Ren struggles.He’s frustrated.Ren translates his anger into movement, striking harder, deeper.He strikes something inside and the General reminds himself once more that he’s not supposed to enjoy it.This is how he can take control.Master his own body before he masters another.It’s supposed to hurt.This part doesn’t.He likes this part.The rest he hates, but this part, this little place inside he didn’t know existed.He likes it.Only Ren touches it.Because he’s not supposed to enjoy it.

Ren finishes.The General has no trouble disliking this part.It’s hot.It’s filthy.It drips.It leaks.He thinks of all the trouble it’s going to be to clean.He glares.He grins.He held out.He won.

Ren doesn’t want him to win though.He does what he can to make the victory hollow.He chokes, he hits, does what he can to wipe the smirk off the General’s face.He uses his hand.He’s going to make the General feel something.Even if it’s only a reflex, he’s going to trigger it.Ren craves it.The knowledge that he made the unmovable General move.To make Hux lose that little bit of control.Prove he’s nothing but an animal.

Hux can’t fight biology.He knows this.Just like looking at the sun made him sneeze or the cold made him shiver.It was going to happen.It was inevitable.But it was a worthless, automatic thing with no feeling.Ren was grasping at straws now.So desperate for a reaction that he’ll stake everything on a knee jerking.

Hux climaxes, but he doesn’t make a sound.Growing up in a barracks trained him to stay quiet during this process.The one that was nothing but a distraction, a necessary evil, one he wasn’t supposed to enjoy.Ren sits above him like death at the foot of his bed.They pant.They glare.They agree.

Rematch.Tomorrow night.Ren’s quarters.


End file.
